


The Witcher, The Bard and Their Guardian Angel

by JaskiersWolf



Series: Canon Era Geraskier Prompts [29]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Humorous Ending, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskiersWolf/pseuds/JaskiersWolf
Summary: Jaskier was minding his own business on the path, when he was almost knocked off his feet by a riderless horse, fully saddled and in distress. When the horse leads him to a dying witcher he knows that there is only one thing to do. He must save him, whatever the cost.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Canon Era Geraskier Prompts [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982815
Comments: 87
Kudos: 589





	1. Chapter 1

“Fuck!” 

Geralt jumped back and dove into a roll to avoid the swooping talons of the griffin, but he was too late. The talons had already caught him in the chest, piercing his armour as if it were butter. Blood was already soaking into the black leather of his chest plate. He gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tighter. The potions were dulling the pain of the wound but he could tell by the amount of blood dripping from the gash that it wasn’t good. The air moved above him, and he moved his fingers quickly to form Aard. The pulse of kinetic energy knocked the griffin from the sky and quicker than any human could track his sword was buried into the poor beast’s brain. The griffin pulsated on the ground as it gave one last dying screech. 

Geralt sighed and collapsed down next to it. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled to the dead creature. 

It had been terrorising the path just outside Vergen which had forced the alderman to hire a witcher. He’d been the unlucky sod to pick up the contract. He’d scouted the area and discovered that the human villagers had killed the griffin’s mate as a trophy. The remaining griffin had sought revenge and the dwarves had practically bribed the alderman to post the contract to hire a witcher. Even then the bastard hadn’t offered Geralt the full amount, he’d kept back half of the dwarves’ coin for himself.

Geralt pressed his hand to his chest. The blood was oozing quickly from the wound, too quickly even for his witcher healing. 

“Shit!” He gasped. 

The pain was still numbed but the fight was done. The griffin was dead, humanity protected as was his job, but this time he wasn’t getting paid. He didn’t bother cutting off the head of the griffin. He wouldn’t make it in time. There was no point in mutilating and humiliating the beast any further. He could neck back another potion to help the healing but his toxicity was already too high, another potion would do more damage and kill him faster. 

He half stumbled, half crawled back to Roach. She whinnied when she saw him and trotted over until he was able to sling his arm around her neck. 

“I know, I’m a mess.” He croaked as they slowly hobbled back towards the town. He wondered how far he would get before the blood loss caught up with him, before the toxicity in his blood stopped masking his looming death. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew this time Roach. Got too slow.”

He coughed and choked up blood into his hands. “Fuck.” He groaned and slumped down to the floor. His vision was spotted and unfocussed. He didn’t have long now, but at least he had Roach. His trusted companion. 

“Hurts less than I expected.” He slurred. “Got the potions to thank for that I guess.”

Roach reared and whinnied loudly, tugging away from him in a panic. The stench of his blood had probably become too much for her and she bolted. He was too weak to use Axii to calm her down so he let her go. 

“Guess we do all die alone.” He laughed weakly before he choked on another coughing fit.

His vision faded to black as he eyes fluttered shut for the last time.

* * *

Jaskier was whistling a new song under his breath. He hadn’t managed to work out the lyrics yet but the he couldn’t stop dreaming of the melody just before he fell properly asleep each night. His lute case was strapped to his back as he walked along the dusty path. The villagers had warned him not to go, especially not alone, but he had sung too many times at the taverns in Vergen and the coin was shit, once the food started flying he decided it was time to leave. 

No griffin was going to stop him. He had a dagger tucked into his boots for the more nefarious human types but he doubted it would be very effective against a beast like a griffin. He was secretly hoping to see the creature, at least from a distance. He’d never seen one up close before and he could only imagine how magnificent and regal they were. 

He was startled as a bay horse came charging onto the path. The horse was saddled but there was no sign of a rider. The horse was clearly distressed as she stamped her feet and whinnied restlessly in a circle around him. After a few attempts he managed to catch the reins and slowly steady her to a walk. He pulled a slightly mouldy apple from his pants, a gift from his latest performance in Vergen. The horse sniffed it indignantly but took his peace offering. 

“Hello there.” He cooed as he patted her mane as gently as possible. “Where’s your rider, hey?”

The horse whinnied and stamped her feet, tugging at the reins back in the direction she'd ran from. 

Jaskier frowned and blew his fringe from his eyes. “You want me to follow you?”

The horse pulled harder at the reins and Jaskier stumbled off the path. He licked his lips as he contemplated what to do. He was a confident rider but he knew that mounting a horse when they were so distressed was not a good idea. 

“Oh fuck it. Look, horsey, I’m going to just hop on up alright? And then you can lead me to wherever your rider is.” Jaskier cooed at the horse. 

She didn’t immediately run away so Jaskier put one foot in the stirrups and hauled himself up onto the horse. He almost overshot and landed on his ass the other side of the horse. It had been a long time since he’d last ridden a horse, not since his lessons as a boy. 

He grumbled under his breath at the memory and managed to steady himself. No sooner was he in the saddle than the horse lurched underneath him and they were galloping off into the wilderness. 

“Oh bollocks!” He groaned as he gripped the horse tightly with his thighs. “Be gentle with me, horsey.” 

They hadn’t been riding long, although it felt like a century to Jaskier’s tender arse, when the horse slowed to a trot and Jaskier spied a body in the road. 

“Fuck!” He hurried to dismount from the horse but caught his foot in the stirrup and fell onto his arse with a yelp. 

It was a witcher. More than that, it was Geralt of Rivia. He’d heard of the silver-haired witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken. 

He ran to the wounded witcher’s side and rolled the man onto his back with a grunt. He was heavier than he looked, and still breathing, just about. 

Jaskier hauled the witcher onto the horse. It wasn’t easy but the horse seemed to understand what he wanted to do and stayed still. Geralt draped over the saddle like a dead body but Jaskier couldn’t think of a better solution. The man needed a healer, a mage and quickly. Jaskier pulled at the horses reins and ran beside the horse as he led them both back to the village. He screamed for help as he approached the first row of houses. 

“I need a healer!” He cried. “Or a mage!”

The human villagers wouldn’t look him in the eye as he passed them. 

“You bastards!” He yelled indignantly. “He saved your weak human asses and this is how you repay him?! Melitele help us all.” 

“In here.” A nearby dwarf waved him down. “We have healers. I’ll send one of the lads to find you a mage.” 

Jaskier slumped under Geralt’s weight but managed to pull him into the building. It was… a tavern? But not one he’d been in before and he could instantly see why. The tavern was filled with dwarves and other non-humans only. They must not normally allow the humans into this one. 

“Thank you.” He said breathlessly as Geralt was laid on the nearest table.

“A friend?” The dwarf asked. 

Jaskier laughed and shook his head. “Never met him before.”

There wasn’t much speaking after that. Jaskier was ushered out of the tavern whilst the dwarven healers got to work. After a few more minutes a tall man in flowing robes pushed past him into the tavern.

The mage.

Jaskier sat with the horse outside of the tavern, stroking her mane and telling her all about his day to the tune of his newest song. The words didn’t fit properly and the rhymes were dodgy but the singing helped his nerves. He didn’t know why he stayed. He didn’t even know the witcher. 

They were strangers.

And yet, here he was. 

He couldn’t bring himself to leave until he knew the witcher’s fate. 

He sat outside the tavern, plucking half written melodies from his lute strings until dusk fell over Vergen and the tavern door flung open behind him. He jumped up with an undignified squawk and turned to face the tall, dark skinned mage. His eyes were a rich warm brown, the most beautiful brown eyes that Jaskier had even seen. Jaskier felt as if he could fall into the abyss of those eyes. The mage’s hair was mostly covered by his hood but Jaskier noted the beginnings of beautiful intricate braids in the shadows of the hood. 

He was unbelievably handsome. 

The mage watched him intently for a few minutes without moving or speaking. Jaskier was helpless to do anything but bask in the enchanting gaze of the mage. 

“You owe me a debt, bard.” The mage eventually said cooly. “I saved your witcher’s life. A life debt is owed.”

Jaskier’s hands gripped tighter onto his lute and his chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated the mage’s words. He nodded slowly. “Right.” He drew the word out, buying time as he gathered the right words to say that would cause him the least problems later on. “Well. If you were a witcher you could call the law of surprise.” 

“But I am not.” The mage smirked. 

Jaskier shook his head. “No. No you’re not. Why isn’t it Geralt that owes you? It’s his life?”

The mage laughed quietly. “Your witcher was ready to die, bard. It was you that called me here. Not him.”

Jaskier nodded. “So my debt.” He surmised. “I mean, I didn’t exactly know I was offering up a life debt here. So what about a song?” He tried to bargain. 

“I will collect my debt in time, bard.” The mage began to wave his hands and Jaskier’s hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the air crackled around them. “My name is Mihangel. Remember it, Julian.”

The mage, Mihangel, passed him a heavy sack that was blood soaked and dripping at the bottom then stepped through a portal and vanished from Vergen. 

“Oh cock!” Jaskier swore. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post tonight but I have a bit of a backlog of chapters to post because I accidentally wrote an entire short story in two days? So... new chapter! 
> 
> Geralt is still pretty injured in this chapter and it will be following the early stages of his recovery. So... in case that's not your thing? Be warned.

Geralt had died. 

He was sure of it. 

There was no way in hell that he’d survived the attack from the griffin, not without magical intervention and there had been no mages nearby. Yet he appeared to be waking up. His body felt like it had been torn apart and sewn back together the wrong way round, and was that… singing?

He drew a heavy breath and winced at the pain in his abdomen as he blinked against the light. 

An elf was looking down at him with pretty blue eyes filled with concern. 

“Geralt?” The man asked. 

Fuck he had a beautiful voice. 

Geralt frowned. The singing had stopped. Why had the singing stopped? He tried to sit up but the elf pushed him down again.

“Oh no. No, no. You stay down, witcher.” The elf insisted and Geralt obeyed. 

He didn’t want to disappoint the man with the beautiful eyes and voice like a siren. 

“Who…” He coughed out hoarsely.

“Jaskier. I found you on the road half dead, Geralt.” The elf squeezed Geralt’s shoulders to make sure he stayed lying down and then move back to his chair. “Mihangel, the mage who helped the healers save your sorry arse, gave me the griffin head. Honestly I’ve never seen something so disgusting in my life, but apparently you witchers need it to get paid. So, you’re welcome.”

Geralt struggled to process the elf’s words. He could hear them and he was sure they were important but he just couldn’t stop watching the man’s lips. They were chapped from where the elf had been biting them and every so often his tongue peeked out to moisten his lips. To Geralt it became the most important thing in his drug addled mind. 

He did miss the singing though. It had been the voice of an angel, he was sure of it.

“M’ not dead?” Geralt slurred, the pain in his stomach was making him sick and his vision was already begin to blacken around the edges.

The elf shook his head. “No. By all rights you should have been. You’re lucky I found you, Geralt.” 

“Hmm… pretty….” He heard his voice echo as his head fell back against the pillow and sleep took him once more. 

* * *

The next time he woke up his head was a little clearer. The pain had eased and he was able to sit up with only a little effort. He grunted as he pushed his back up against the wall. The noise woke up the brunet that was sleeping in a chair next to his bed. 

The man had soft tousled brown hair and was wearing an expensive looking teal doublet that was soaked in his blood. The man must have been the one to save him. He moaned slightly as he woke up and rubbed his eyes wearily. 

“Geralt?” 

Oh.

Geralt knew that voice. 

He had been sure it was a dream, the elven man with the cornflower blue eyes. 

“Hmm.” He agreed and stared intently at the man. 

The tips of his ears were covered in soft chestnut brown hair but if he’d been pure elf then his ears would still have been visible. This was no elf. His sleep hazed mind must have just noticed the man’s bone structure and beautiful eyes and jumped to conclusions. 

“You look better.” The man said cheerily. “Can I?” His hands hovered over Geralt’s bandaged torso.

Geralt nodded. 

“The healers said that witchers heal faster than humans but I thought you would be asleep for at least a few more days.” The brunet gently pealed back the bandages. Geralt winced slightly as he felt the fabric pull at the scabbed tissue. He glanced down at the man’s trembling fingers, noting the calloused fingertips, a bard perhaps? “That’s incredible!” The brunet gasped. “There’s barely any sign of a wound.”

Geralt saw that the man was right, all that was left of the deep gash left by the griffin’s talons was a thick scabbed line. 

“Where’s my bags?” He asked, his voice croaked dryly. 

The man jumped up and hurried to the other side of the room. “These were attached to the horse.”

“Roach?”

“She’s stabled and being looked after, the dwarves have been the most gracious hosts, my dear.” The man dumped the bags on the bed next to him. “What did you need?” 

“Potions. One for healing. Couldn’t take it before, too toxic.” Geralt mumbled as he pulled the pack into his lap and began to search for the right bottle. 

“Too toxic?! Geralt!” The man tugged at the satchel. “No!”

“Yes.” Geralt insisted. “I’m a witcher, it’s fine.”

“Geralt!” The man whined. 

“It’s fine.” He growled with a final tug. “But thank you, for saving me. I owe you…” He trailed off hoping that the man would realise what he was asking. 

“Oh yes. You weren’t very lucid before were you? Jaskier Pankratz at your service!” He grinned. “You called me pretty before.”

Geralt frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!” Jaskier insisted. “And you kept mumbling about elves and beautiful eyes, an old flame perhaps?”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, thanking his mutations for dampening his ability to blush, otherwise he was fairly certain his face would be betraying him. 

“You know, an old lover of mine once said in the throes of passion that I had the beauty of an elf.” Jaskier mused with a delicate wave of his hands. “I of course, took it as a compliment, some of the most gorgeous people in the history of the Continent have been elves.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed. 

“So do you really think I have beautiful eyes, Geralt?” Jaskier’s fingers danced across his chest as the brunet stared at him through his eyelashes with those stunning blue eyes. 

Geralt wasn’t delirious enough this time to admit it. Instead he pulled the cork from the bottle using his teeth and downed half the potion. It burned his throat horrible and he almost vomited the vile concoction straight back up but he growled and forced it down. 

Jaskier gasped and Geralt followed his gaze. With the additional help of the potion the left over scabbing from the talons was pealing off his skin as his flesh visibly knitted back together. It itched like hell but he just laid his head back on the pillow and gritted his teeth until the feeling passed. 

“That’s amazing.” Jaskier breathed reverently. 

“When you get stabbed a lot it’s necessary. Witchers would be pretty terrible monster hunters if we didn’t recover quickly.” Geralt shrugged. 

The bitter taste of the potion still lingered in his mouth. Some of his other smaller cuts and bruises that hadn’t been magically healed by the mage were also now fading away, only the largest of them would scar properly. He sighed. Another mark on his skin, just another sign of his own monstrosity and another oddity for whores to ask about. 

Jaskier pouted. “Oh come now! Have a little self respect. You’re fucking brilliant. I’ve always wanted to meet a witcher. You must have so many stories to tell.” 

“A bard?” Geralt asked, remembering Jaskier’s calloused fingers.

“Trying to be, just graduated. Didn’t realise people were such assholes though. Doesn’t fucking matter that I was top of my class or that I have degrees in all seven of the liberal arts. Noooo,” Jaskier rolled his eyes and flailed his arms in exasperation. “No they don’t give a shit about any of that.”

“Can’t say I blame them.” Geralt sighed wearily. The potion was already slowing him down. His body lulling him back to sleep so he could recover from the fast healing and the toxicity that was bubbling in his veins. Half the potion wasn’t much and he barely felt it but his body had already been exposed to a lot between the griffin and the mage, he needed to rest. 

He fucking hated it.

Jaskier must have noticed because the brunet ran a hand through Geralt’s hair gently. “Rest now. I’ll look after your belongings until you are ready to leave. You’re safe with me.”

Geralt heard a low rumble in his chest that he wasn’t conscious of making as Jaskier’s hands continued to stroke through this hair. He let his eyes droop shut. 

“That’s it, witcher.” Jaskier whispered quietly as he fell back into a deep sleep. 

* * *

Jaskier didn’t leave Geralt’s side very often during his week at the dwarven tavern. The dwarves were incredibly hospitable. Jaskier played a couple of sets in the tavern downstairs in the evening, the dwarves were particularly fond of his bawdier compositions and his new song about the mysterious Mihangel was well received. A few elves, gnomes and other non-humans had even slipped into the back of the room whilst he was performing. Jaskier felt pride in being able to bring the different species together but he did feel sad at the notable absence of humans. 

Perhaps they were simply not welcome. The tavern did seem to be a safe haven for non-humans. 

“Dulmur?” Jaskier had asked the redheaded dwarf behind the bar on his second evening. 

“Problem, bard?” Dulmur grunted as he wiped down some glasses.

“Forgive my curiosity,” He smiled sheepishly as he tapped out a rhythm on the bar with his fingers. “But why are there no humans here?”

Dulmur laughed heartily. “Because they don’t want to be, bard. They don’t want to mix with us and that suits us just fine. Makes the place a whole lot cheerier for us without the humans fucking it up.”

Jaskier nodded. “So you don’t mind me being here?” 

The dwarf put the glass he was cleaning down with a loud clunk. “Well to be honest, we all thought you were an elf at first, all that screeching about good for nothing humans.”

Jaskier gaped at the dwarf. “I do not screech!” He screeched and then pouted. “I have to look after my voice.”

“Talking of which, we aren’t letting you stay here free of charge, bard. Play us a song!” Dulmur clapped his hands and Jaskier hopped off his bar stall to begin his set. 

That was a good few days ago and Jaskier no longer felt like an outsider in the bar. He treated them kindly and listened to their tales, in return they accepted him as a friend and ally. It probably helped that he did bear some resemblance to an elf. 

His mother had always insisted that he was fully human, told him that it was just his imagination running wild when he noticed the similarities. He still wasn’t convinced but time would tell. If he did have elven blood then the years would treat him more kindly than his fully human peers. 

Jaskier pushed the thought from his head as he fingers brushed over the strings of his lute. He let the music take over, washing his worries about the silver haired man upstairs away. It was a lively piece and required significantly more concentration to keep the melody and the bass line together on his lute, and that was before he even began to sing. Luckily the lyrics weren’t particularly taxing, lazy rhymes and a fairly relaxed pace. The remainder of his concentration went on working the crowd, dancing around the tables, flirting with the patrons to ensure some easy coin. 

He almost dropped his lute when he turned round to see Geralt by the stairs with his swords strapped to his back and bags slung over his shoulder. No one seemed to care that Jaskier’s voice gave out for a few beats or that he wrapped up the song a few verses early. Before the last notes had stopped ringing in the air he’d bounded across the room to the witcher. 

“Geralt!” He wanted to hug the man but remembered that spending a week by the witcher’s bedside did not make them friends. He settled for a slightly awkward pat on Geralt’s broad shoulders. “You’re ok.” 

“Thanks to you.” Geralt nodded. “What do I owe you?”

Jaskier’s heart sank.

The life debt. 

That was his to pay and his alone, the mage had made that quite clear! He fiddled with his lute strap over his chest before plastering a charming smile on his face. 

“Oh no! Nothing at all, my dear witcher.” He squeezed Geralt’s shoulder. “Any man would have done the same.” He lied easily, he’d seen the town’s reaction to his pleas for help, he was quite certain he was in the minority when it came to respecting witchers. 

“Bollocks to that.” Geralt grunted. “You saved my life, Jaskier. What do I owe you?”

“Oh well,” Jaskier grinned, he’d hoped the witcher would ask again. “If you insist.”

“Out with it, bard.” 

“Let me join you on your adventures.” He begged. 

“No chance.” Geralt grunted and began to move towards the door. 

“No no, hear me out!” He chased after the witcher towards the stables. “I gave that griffin’s head to the alderman!” He called after Geralt. 

Geralt growled and spun round. “What?” 

“Mihangel gave it to me, honestly Geralt, I almost lost my lunch. Do people really ask for the heads?” He didn’t stop talking long enough for Geralt to answer. “So I thought, I can’t exactly bring a stinking dead griffin’s head into a tavern but what else to do with it? Take it to the man who ordered the contract of course! So I did. He looked a little surprised to see me, you know on account of me not being you, or a witcher, although I think I would look rather dashing in all that armour.”

“Focus, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed as he began to saddle up his horse, Roach he’d called her. 

“Yes yes!” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m getting there, patience dear witcher. Well, I obviously don’t know how much you’d usually ask for a contract on a griffin, but I thought, you know, since you almost died and all, that the alderman was joking when he gave me fifty florens.” 

“Bastard.” Geralt grumbled. “He promised me seventy five.”

“Ha!” Jaskier flung his arms out in glee. “I knew it! Luckily for you, I happen to be an excellent haggler. I told him I was there for the fight, that I saw how vicious and dangerous the beast was, that you had slain the mighty griffin only to realise that one of it’s talons had lodged inside of your chest, that you had been prepared to died to save the travellers to this delightful town. I was prepared to sing of your glory but the man coughed up a hundred florens before I had the chance.” 

“A hundred?” 

“That’s what I said, Geralt. Do pay attention.” He put his hand on his hips as the witcher mounted his horse. “So come on, witcher, let me come with you! I’m great with people, you need me!” 

“Fine.” Geralt grumbled. “Where’s the coin?” 

“I gave it to the healers and the dwarves at the tavern. Covered the room and food for whilst we were there.”

Geralt sighed. “Right, yeah. Of course.” 

“Oh that reminds me! You haven’t eaten in days. Stay here, I’ll see if I can rustle up some supplies for the road.” Jaskier pinned Geralt with a firm look, not quite trusting the witcher to run off without him. “And I would like to gather up my own belongings, I do have a little more than my lute you know.”

“Hurry up.” Geralt tugged at Roach’s reins and slowly manoeuvred her from the stable. “I want to set up camp nearby.”

“Can’t we stay another night?” Jaskier pouted. 

“Feel free, bard but I won’t wait for you if you decide to stay.” Geralt replied bluntly. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, pulled his lute from off his back and pressed it into the witcher’s hand. “I am not letting you leave with this. I am coming back with food and supplies. Do not leave without me, witcher.”

Geralt stared down at the instrument in his hands. “I won’t.” He promised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always! I'm feeling incredibly blessed to have found this fandom. It's been an absolute joy to write for. So yeah. Thanks for making it a lovely place to write. 
> 
> I have [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/) so if you wanna come ask about my writing, send prompts or just generally enjoy some witcher goodness... that's where you can find me! I have way too many ongoing fics but most of them are fully written in draft form :D I'll be posting this chapter on tumblr tomorrow. I normally post at the same time but it's late and I'm tired :P 
> 
> Anyhoo, maybe let me know what you thought! :) 
> 
> \- Yaz


	3. Chapter 3

“Jaskier, get down!” Geralt shouted to the bard who was watching the fight from behind a bush. 

Jaskier yelped and ducked down just in time as a ball of venom flew over this head. 

Geralt hissed as he turned back to face the archespore that was growing new shoots all over the ground. “Damn it!” 

He moved his fingers quickly and shot a blast of fire at the plant using igni. It burst into flames and burnt to ash quickly. He spun round in a pirouette to make sure he had killed the main plant and not one of its smaller offshoots, but fortunately he was surrounded by limp lifeless plant matter. 

“Is it dead?” Jaskier called from his hiding spot. “It looks dead, right?”

Geralt wiped the venom coated sword on the grass and then sheathed it on his back. “It’s dead.” He confirmed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Not even a scratch, I do have the famous White Wolf to protect me after all.” Jaskier cooed as he jumped into Geralt’s arms. 

Geralt grunted but caught the bard with a roll of his eyes. 

“Next time I tell you to leave the disgusting looking plant alone, will you please listen to me?” Geralt sighed. 

Jaskier grinned mischievously up at him “Oh but where’s the fun in that! I wouldn’t have gotten to watch you fight otherwise, and you know how much I adore that.” Jaskier smirked and stroked a long finger down Geralt’s cheek. 

“I’ll drop you.” Geralt warned. 

“No you won’t.” Jaskier laughed.

Geralt frowned, seriously considering dropping the bard on his ass. 

“Be more careful next time.” He sighed. 

Jaskier leaned up to press his lips to Geralt’s cheek. “Of course, dear heart.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. He knew that Jaskier’s promise meant nothing. He was too curious and severely lacked a self preservation instinct, preferring to rely on Geralt to get him out of trouble. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” He grumbled and dropped Jaskier carefully back to the floor. The bard pouted at him but said nothing. 

They had been travelling together for just over a decade now. Geralt hadn’t meant to let the bard tag along for that long but after a few years together on and off, he found he was quite fond of Jaskier’s company. He filled the silence that Geralt hadn’t even realised had been bothering him before. He certainly helped when it came to coin. Jaskier had taken charge of haggling with their clients and he was the one who would retrieve the pay after a successful hunt, especially when royalty or nobility were involved. Not to mention the coin his songs brought in, an extra income that helped pay for lodgings and supplies, as well as rousing up a few more desperate contracts whenever they were in town. 

Their relationship had grown and developed before either of them had really realised. They had never really talked about it but the pet names had slowly become more intimate, on Jaskier’s part anyway, and the hugs began to linger, sharing bedrolls for heat became sharing bedrolls because they wanted to. If Geralt was walking along side Jaskier then it wasn’t unusual for the bard to slip his hand into Geralt’s and Geralt never pulled away, he didn’t want to. 

Then came the kisses. 

Natural as breathing. 

One winter Geralt and Jaskier had said their goodbyes, Jaskier heading to Oxenfurt and Geralt to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier had leant in to kiss him. It wasn’t passionate or lust driven. It was a simple kiss goodbye, as if they’d been doing it for years. 

Geralt had stared after the bard as he’d sauntered away and he’d thought about the kiss all winter. 

When they’d reunited in spring Geralt had pulled his bard into fierce kiss and then buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, letting his familiar scent wash over him. Jaskier had returned the kiss eagerly and from then on their relationship and melted into one beyond platonic. 

Geralt was already mourning the loss of his bard. Jaskier was human which meant that Geralt, if he survived the monsters, would not have long with his companion. So every day, every second counted. It had to. He couldn’t waste his time with Jaskier. 

Which was why Jaskier’s penchant for trouble bothered him so much. 

Humans were so ridiculously fragile.

“Geralt? What’s going on in that big old brain of yours?” Jaskier’s hands were on his cheeks, pulling him from his thoughts, and looking up at him with his beautiful cornflower blue eyes. “Is it the child?”

Geralt growled. “No.”

“When are we going to talk about what happened?” Jaskier sighed and rested his forehead against Geralt’s. 

Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in the bard’s scent, letting it calm him and pushing away all thoughts of his mortality. 

“The path is no place for a child, Jaskier.” He sighed. “I’m not taking him away from his family.”

“And how do we know they’re a boy?” Jaskier teased. 

Geralt hummed. “I’m not taking them away from their family.” He amended. 

“You should at least visit.” Jaskier’s hands were now threading through his hair gently. “You saw what happened when you try to deny Destiny.”

Geralt hummed again. 

Jaskier pulled away and kissed his forehead. “Come now, Geralt. We shall ride for Cintra and I won’t hear another word against it!”

“Jaskier.” He sighed. 

“Stop complaining, witcher. We’re going.” Jaskier said firmly. “Don’t forget, I saved your life, you brute. You owe me!” 

Geralt couldn’t help but smile. Despite the fact that Geralt had saved Jaskier’s life many times over the last decade, the bard still insisted on playing that card. 

The air crackled around them and a portal shimmered open in the air. A tall mage in a long hooded robe stepped through.

“What the…” Geralt murmured. 

Jaskier scent soured and his pulse began to race. 

The bard was afraid, more afraid than Geralt had ever known him, not even when a giant had picked him up by his ankles and tried to eat him. 

“Mihangel.” Jaskier’s voice was shaking and barely above a whispered. 

“You remembered.” The mage smiled softly, his voice was low and rich, full of untold knowledge. 

“Jaskier, what’s going on?” He pushed the bard behind him, shielding him from the mage that had scared him so much. 

“Ah, well, funny story.” Jaskier stammered. “When I said I saved your life, it wasn’t so much me as him, but you know, I found you and brought you back to town so I definitely helped!”

“Your bard begged for help, for anyone that could save you. You were dying, witcher.” Mihangel said calmly. 

Geralt nodded. “I remember.”

“I saved your life at his request.” Mihangel’s voice was almost hypnotic. “And now I have come to claim what is owed to me.”

Geralt frowned and stepped towards the mage, making sure he was between Mihangel and his bard. “And what exactly is that?”

“A life debt.” Jaskier wailed behind him. “Oh gods, I’m too young to die!”

Mihangel laughed, a rich warm laugh that reminded Geralt of his brother Eskel. “Is that why you stink of fear, bard?” 

Jaskier snorted indignantly. “I smell just fine! Tell him Geralt.” 

Geralt glanced behind him and shrugged. 

“Oi!” Jaskier protested.

“What do you want from him? I’ll pay his debt.” Geralt suggested. 

The mage laughed once more. “Oh I sincerely doubt that you’ll be able to, witcher but I accept these terms.” He held his hand out and Geralt shook it. 

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier barrelled past Geralt and broke their hands apart. “Geralt, you don’t even know what you’re agreeing to!” 

Mihangel laughed. “You should have listened to your bard, witcher.” 

Geralt frowned. “Why? What did you want?”

“My sister is getting married this summer. She was hoping to have the famous Jaskier play for her, but I supposed the famous witcher Geralt of Rivia will have to do.” Mihangel pulled off his hood, revealing the intricate braids in his hair. “You have two months, witcher. I wish you luck. You’ll need it.” 

And with that Mihangel portalled away. 

Jaskier burst into gleeful laughter, dropping to the floor and he clutched his stomach. “Oh ho ho!” He burst out between laughs. “I cannot wait to see this one!”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled. 

“I told you that you should learn the lute!” He giggled. 

“Shut up!” Geralt growled louder. 

“But oh no! The mighty witcher was too good for my lowly lute playing skills. Ha!” Jaskier was on his back trying to contain his laughter. 

Geralt swore and swiftly mounted Roach. He kicked her into a gallop and left the bard in a cloud of dust.

“Oh hey, wait, no. Geralt!!” He heard Jaskier call after him followed by the sound of his footsteps as he ran after him. “Geralt wait up!”

* * *

Jaskier was starting to seriously worry about his lute, it had been a gift from the elves following one of his earlier adventures with Geralt. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Filavandrel had decided to honour him with the instrument but he was certainly not complaining. 

All other lutes paled in comparison. The intricate decoration on the wood was just stunning and the strings had never once broken which was a miracle. He was sure they had been enhanced by magic. Over a decade of using the instrument and not even the highest, tightest, string had snapped under his fingers. He did not miss the days when he couldn’t play because the snapped strings had sliced into his fingertips, not to mention the coin he had saved on replacing the strings. 

Oh and the sounds he could pull from the instrument. They were heavenly, enchanting, more beautiful than a siren’s call. The lute sang in his hands and resonated so clearly, so richly. 

To the gods he was in love. 

None of that mattered now though, not when his beloved instrument was in the hands of his witcher. 

Now Jaskier would be the first to sing Geralt’s praises, remind the world of his goodness, his heroic nature, his heart, but Jaskier currently wanted to tear the lute from Geralt’s hands and make sure the world never had to endure this torture ever again. 

“Melitele have mercy on us, stop that Geralt!” He groaned and pulled his lute away, cradling it in his arms. “I’m sorry, sexy, he didn’t mean it. I promise.” He cooed to his precious lute. 

Geralt snorted. “Sexy?”

“Now now, don’t get jealous. You know I’ll always come back to you, my darling witcher.” He winked at Geralt. “Even if you are trying to destroy my eardrums. You having many talents my dear, lute playing is not one of them.”

“Would you just shut up? I’m running out of time.” Geralt went to grab the lute back. 

Jaskier jumped back and held the lute out of Geralt’s reach. “Take a break, please, Geralt. I implore you.” 

“Can’t. Have to learn to pay off your fucking debt!” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier licked his lips and smirked at the witcher, pushing him back with his free hand. “And who’s fault is that? No no. Don’t say mine, Geralt. This is all on you!”

“I thought he was going to ask you to fight something.” Geralt grumbled. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I appreciate your concern, but really why would a literal sorcerer ask a bard to fight?” Jaskier tilted his head at Geralt, allowing his fingers to grip onto the fabric of Geralt’s shirt. “I mean I thought he wanted to use my organs for some weird magic shit.” 

Geralt scoffed. 

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that ‘life debt’ didn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own life?” Jaskier pouted. 

“You were at Cintra.” Geralt rolled his eyes. 

“And I’d already asked Mihangel if he wanted to call Law of Surprise, he declined and went all ominous and ‘Remember my name’” Jaskier sunk into his lower register to do his finest impression of the mage. “I panicked!”

“You are nothing but trouble, bard.” Geralt sighed but stopped trying to grab the lute. 

Jaskier grinned and pulled the witcher into a kiss. “It’s why you love me.” He purred against Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed before capturing his lips in another kiss, biting at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled apart.

Geralt took advantage of Jaskier’s distraction and stole the lute back. 

“Oi!” Jaskier pouted. 

“Shut up and help me.” Geralt snapped.

“Well I can’t shut up if you want me to teach you.” He pointed out. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt groaned in exasperation. 

“Fine fine. Come here, you brute.” Jaskier said defeatedly. 

They’d already been at it for two months and Geralt had barely made any progress. His hands were much better suited to wielding swords than lutes. Jaskier was just lucky the Geralt’s fingers were nimble enough to dance, albeit awkwardly, on the strings. Years of using witcher signs had helped with that, and Jaskier was more than familiar with how good Geralt could be with his fingers. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned in a soft voice. 

He blushed. “After the wedding perhaps?” 

“Don’t count on it.” Geralt growled but he was half smiling at Jaskier in that fond soft way that made Jaskier’s heart melt. 

“We shall see, dear heart.” Jaskier winked at his student. 

By the time the sun had begun to set and they needed to get ready for the wedding, Geralt could just about finish a very basic tune but he couldn’t sing at the same time. Jaskier would have to help, they were both counting on Geralt’s humiliation being entertainment enough and that Mihangel would allow Jaskier to take over. 

Otherwise it would be a very dull wedding indeed. Jaskier had enlisted some of his friends from Oxenfurt to help for the evening. Whilst the lute was a perfectly adequate instrument on its own, for a grand event such as a wedding, a fuller band was always a better option. He’d warned his friends that Geralt would have to play at least the first song. Luckily the news had delighted them and bets had been made about just how terrible the witcher would be. 

Jaskier was ashamed to say he’d betted against the witcher on this one. His friend Essi had been certain that Jaskier was being too harsh on his partner, poor Essi had no idea what she was in for. 

They wandered down into the hall, Jaskier was wearing his finest doublet that hadn’t been torn to pieces by monsters or by Geralt’s own hands. It was a soft silk lilac doublet, with a delicate floral pattern that shimmered in the light. Geralt had grumbled but allowed himself to be forced into formal evening wear. He was sporting a rather elegant dark burgundy doublet with gold thread stitching a rather beautiful meadow of buttercups across his torso. 

Jaskier liked to pretend that he wasn’t the possessive sort but he found it immensely satisfying watching Geralt walk through the crowd covered in buttercups and smelling like chamomile, Jaskier’s preferred scent. 

“Are you ready, White Wolf?” He leaned to whisper in Geralt’s ear. 

“Can’t be worse than the striga.” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier laughed. “Oh my darling, this is so much worse. A striga is merciful. She kills you quickly. Nobility are more monstrous than anything you’ve faced in battle.” 

Geralt snorted a laugh and pulled the lute from off his back. 

It was time to repay the debt, at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Let me know what you think :) 
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/) and I do take prompts if you have any ideas, I just have a bit of a writing backlog at the moment. So if you send one then I promise I'm not ignoring you! I've got them all written down safely. 
> 
> \- Yaz


	4. Chapter 4

Luckily for everyone who was in attendance at the wedding of Mihangel’s sister, the mage had taken pity on Geralt after one song. He’d allowed Jaskier to take over, and the bard had all but yanked his lute from the witcher’s arms. Those who were there that night would never forget the sight of the famous White Wolf fumbling over the simple melody that his bard had taught him. 

The feat became immortalised in ballads and poems and plays, none of which were written by the bard in question. Jaskier had hoped the entire affair would be forgotten but Little Eye, the mischievous she-devil had had other ideas. 

After the wedding Geralt and Jaskier fled quickly to Cintra but Calanthe had not been pleased to see the witcher and his bard turn up at her gates. They’d been sent packing as soon as they’d arrived. However, Jaskier was a stubborn creature and had eventually weaselled his way back into the Queen’s good graces. He’d been introduced to the little lion cub of Cintra, Princess Cirilla, and had visited quite frequently until Nilfgaard’s invasion. 

He’d kept Geralt informed of the girl’s progress as she grew into a feisty young teenager, and in turn Ciri had grown quite fond of her favourite bard who told her stories of the White Wolf and her Destiny. 

After the fight to save the baby dragon on the mountain, Jaskier had begged Geralt go to Cintra with him to save Ciri. For once in their lives, Yennefer and Jaskier had agreed on this. Yennefer was still desperate for a child, and Geralt’s foolish ill-worded wish had bound the sorceress to them, and in turn Ciri. 

Jaskier had since mused that maybe Destiny had intended them all to find each other. It was Jaskier that led Geralt to both Ciri and Yennefer. The girl that had lost her family and the women so desperate for a child of her own, bound together through Geralt. 

Maybe Jaskier was just a romantic at heart and was charmed by the idea of his witcher finally having the family he so deserved. 

They’d snuck the princess away from the banquet right under Nilfgaard’s noses and fled to Kaer Morhen. The news of Cintra’s fall had reached them whilst they were on the road, Ciri had not taken it well at all. 

That had been a shock. 

It seemed the young princess had inherited her mother’s gifts. Jaskier had been thrown back against a tree from the sheer force of the girl’s screams. He’d instantly blacked out and had come to with Ciri sobbing over him whilst Geralt tried to placate her. 

He’d been too injured to walk or ride without help for a week. Geralt had practically carried him half way to Kaer Morhen, it had hurt like a bitch but he had enjoyed the time spent in his lover’s arms, and there was a small chance that he’d milked his injury for all that it was worth.

Now they were enjoying the safety of Geralt’s home, protected by the mountains and a small army of witchers, Geralt family. 

He was curled up in Geralt’s lap, it was after all, his favourite seat in the keep. Not even the lavish arm chair in the library was as comfortable as his favourite witcher’s lap. Although the other witchers did give him a run for his money. Eskel was particularly cuddly, much to Geralt’s displeasure. It had taken Lambert longer to warm up to the idea of hugs and cuddles but eventually curiosity and jealous had gotten the better of the redhead and he welcomed Jaskier’s touch as much as the others. 

They were all sat together in front of the large fire place, relaxing after a hard day’s work around the keep, and drinking. The witchers had White Gull, a spirit that Jaskier had tried once but vowed never to touch again. It contained hallucinogens that had been too much for his non-witcher brain. He’d stuck to ale after that. Ciri had water but grumbled that if she were allowed then she’d have no problem with White Gull. 

“How old did you say he was?” Vesemir murmured from across the room. 

Jaskier’s eyes snapped up, he hadn’t realised the old witcher had been watching them. He’d been too busy enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and his lover’s embrace. 

Geralt frowned and looked down at Jaskier.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m forty-two, Geralt.”

“No you’re not?” Geralt grunted. 

Jaskier stuck his tongue between his lips and counted back in his head to be sure. He was born in twenty-two, it was now sixty-four…. 

That meant he was forty-two.

“No, yeah. I really am.” He insisted, pouting up and his witcher. “Why do you ask, Vesemir?”

The older witcher chuckled. “Have you looked in the mirror recently, bard?”

Lambert snorted. “He probably never stops.”

“The folly of a bard.” Eskel agreed. 

Ciri rolled her eyes at the two witchers. “You’re just jealous.” She snapped.

The other two witchers grumbled and Jaskier laughed. “They are gorgeous, there’s nothing to be jealous of, young witcher girl.”

Ciri preened at the name, almost all traces of the princess she’d been before had melted away in the halls of Kaer Morhen. She’d been allowed to break-free from the mould of noble society and she’d thrived. Jaskier suspected the young girl shared his disdain for the world they’d been born into. He’d broken away at around the same age Ciri had. 

He winked at her and then turned his attention back to Vesemir. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been travelling with Geralt for years now, I thought you’d look older. You don’t look a day over twenty-five.” Vesemir mused. 

Jaskier grinned. “Oh ho ho!” He laughed. “That would prove my mother wrong! After all these years. I wonder if she’s still alive. Nah, probably not. I doubt she’d admit the truth anyway.”

Geralt huffed. “I don’t understand.”

Jaskier patted his cheek and snuggled back against the witcher’s chest. “Dear heart, don’t you remember what you said when we first met?”

Geralt growled and Jaskier felt the sound reverberate in the witcher’s chest. “Was this when I was half dead on the path? Or later when I was half dead in the tavern?” 

Jaskier snorted. “Ok, you’ve made your point, my dear witcher, but my point!” He announced with a flourish, almost hitting Geralt in the face. “Is that you called me an elf!” 

“I was delirious.” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier sighed. “There were rumours about my mother’s fidelity when she was pregnant with me, father forbade anyone from talking about it, but I’ve always wondered if my real father was an elf.” He explained to Vesemir who listened studiously. “It felt right to me and as I grew older more and more people commented that I didn’t look too dissimilar to the elves, then when Filavandrel gave me his lute… I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew.”

“But you’re human!” Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier shrugged and wrapped a lock of silver hair around his finger. “We’ll never know for sure.”

Geralt hummed and the conversation faded back to an easy silence. Lambert and Ciri’s bickering about swords and pirouettes were the only voices in the room. Jaskier hummed under his breath, a new ballad about the haunted halls of the old witcher schools that he hadn’t quite finalised yet. Geralt had one hand threaded through Jaskier’s hair and the rhythmic ministrations were making him tired. He knew that it relaxed his witcher too but he wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet. 

He wanted to enjoy the company of Geralt’s family a little longer. He grumbled and nuzzled into Geralt’s chest before sliding down to the floor in front of their chair, sitting at Geralt’s feet. Geralt chuckled but let Jaskier go. 

“Play for us, little lark!” Lambert grinned as white gull sloshed from his tankard. 

Jaskier grinned mischievously up at Geralt and then whined pathetically. “Oh but I couldn’t possibly. My back is still sore. The lute is heavier than it looks, dear Lambert.” 

Ciri met his gaze with her large emerald eyes, he could see she was panicking about causing him injury so gave her a wink. She smirked as she realised what he was up to. 

“You know, I heard rumours, ballads about Geralt playing the lute at a wedding.” She feigned innocence as Geralt swore harshly. 

The other witchers laughed. They’d all heard the ballads on their journeys but Jaskier hadn’t visited Kaer Morhen before and it wasn’t as if they kept a spare lute around the place. 

“I’ve heard the stories too, cub.” Eskel grinned. “Come on, Geralt. Play us a song.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. His poor White Wolf. Luckily for everyone involved, Jaskier had his witcher wrapped around his little finger. 

Jaskier rested his chin on Geralt’s lap and gazed up at him through his eyelashes. He knew Geralt loved his eyes, it had been one of the first things the witcher had told him, when he was delirious from magic and potions. 

“Please Geralt. For me?” He whispered softly and bit his lip for added effect. 

Geralt stared back down at him, his eyes flickering to Jaskier’s lips, before growling. “Fine. Give me the damned lute.” 

Jaskier took Geralt’s hands and brought them to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the witcher’s palms. “Thank you, darling.”

The other witchers whistled and Ciri groaned, calling them gross. 

Jaskier didn’t care. He had his family. He had Geralt, the man he’d almost watched die right before his eyes. He’d mourned him before he could even get to know him and by some miracle they’d been given a second chance by Mihangel. Destiny had intervened and woven a tale more beautiful and more brilliant than anything he could ever write. 

The bard and his witcher.

The witcher and his bard.

And their guardian angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! The end. 
> 
> I have a couple of short stories completed and obviously my longer Modern AU in the works. I have also got a few prompts waiting to be written so apparently this ship has just gripped me more than expected, and honestly every time I think I'll start to get over it Joey does something like release a video of him working on a farm... and ooooh boy I'm in deep again. 
> 
> Anyhoo, apart from maybe one DW fic I've been working on very slowly in the background... most of my upcoming writing is Geraskier. So if you've like this maybe check out my other works or my [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Until next time 
> 
> \- Yaz


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